


Show of Love

by afterandalasia



Category: Aladdin (1992)
Genre: Body Worship, Canon Universe, Community: disney_kink, Desire, F/M, Making Love, Romance, Sexual Experimentation, Testing Through Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6435457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The men that come to visit Jasmine will not talk of love, but she realises before too long that there is a more physical way to test them, how they will treat her, whether they have respect for her mind and body. But prince after prince fails, until finally she meets Aladdin, who shows how he cares for her.</p><p> </p><p>(Tagged for Underage because Jasmine is her canon age, 16.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show of Love

**Author's Note:**

> From the [anon prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=1438057#t1438057) at the Disney Kink Meme:
> 
>  
> 
> _"Jasmine isn't as naive as Aladdin thinks and she invites him in for sexy times!"_

If she does marry, she wants it to be for love.  
  
This is not a time, not a place, where men will speak of love. Never mind that they have their tales of great loves, like any other people, never mind that it must punish men as much to go unloved by their wives; they will not talk of it. Her suitors will speak of her beauty, each time; perhaps they will mention her grace, her elegance. One or two have even complimented her wits and her clever words, before finding out to their horror that those words can be turned as easily against them.  
  
So no, Jasmine knows that she cannot utter a word on 'love' without having her suitors laugh in her face; it does not matter, though, for when a woman has brains she can always think of something, and despite the world's best efforts, Jasmine does not lack for the ability to think. Instead, she looks for clues in how the men treat her, and waits to see if they could possibly understand what it means to love.  
  
She looks for it in their body language, in the way that they approach her, waiting for open gestures and familiarity. She looks for it in how they treat her, whether she is an equal or a subordinate or little more than a slave to them. She looks for it in their words, whether they are kindly and match her wit or whether they are dismissive and speak over her. Without a word of love, she sees plenty of what can be known of the men who come to court her, and is less than impressed by anything which she sees.  
  
Occasionally, just occasionally, she has a flicker of hope about one of them, and allows them to come a little closer. Then she will sit beside them to see how they react, brush her shoulder against their arm to see if they are warm, offer up her lips to see if they know how to kiss.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There is plenty to be learnt in the way that a man acts in the bedroom, Jasmine soon enough realises. Whether he cares enough to pay attention to her body, to find the way that the curves of her breasts send shivers down her, or whether they merely grope and squeeze and do not even pause to see what she thinks of the matter. Whether he kisses her lips and throat, or whether he simply forces his tongue into her mouth without a care. Whether he shows any care when he penetrates her, or simply ruts open her like an animal in season and spends as quickly as a falling drop of rain.  
  
With each thing more that she learns, she becomes more dismissive of her suitors. She finds it amusing at times, but despairs of it at others.  
  
When Aladdin finally comes into her life, she sees for the first time in many moons a flicker of hope that he might actually know what the word _love_ could mean. The way that he looks at her with wonder in his eyes, the way that he reverently touches her hand. By the time that he takes her for the ride on that incredible magic carpet, she can already feel herself falling in love with him.  
  
It has been so long, and love is such a flowering, blossoming idea within her, that she is not even sure that she even would know the words to ask him of it. She knows love as feeling and sight and colour and warmth and a riot of sensation inside her that cannot be tied down in words alone, into one dimension, one sense.  
  
When he nudges up, and his lips meet hers, she feels the flutter of his lashes as his eyes closed. He draws in his breath sharply, and his lips mould up to hers in adoration, and when he draws away there is such desire and incredulous warmth in his eyes that it makes her heart swell.  
  
She reaches out, and takes his hand to help him over the balcony, and the look of wonder never leaves his eyes. His hand is warm and rough and wraps gently around hers, his thumb moving to trace the contours of her skin.  
  
"Come with me," she murmurs, and he doesn't question her.

Even years later, it never ceases to amaze her, how he acted that night and acts still, even after they are wed. How his kisses were uncertain and tender on her lips, how his fingers ghosted down her skin, how every so often he would draw away and breathe, "Are you sure?" and she would have to reassure him. Every inch of her body seemed to be a wonder to him, to be gazed upon and stroked and tasted, and time and time again he comes back to look deep into her eyes and tell her again how beautiful she is, how wonderful, how smart, how brave...  
  
His words start to fall apart into wordless, eloquent looks alone as they shed their clothes, as the cool night air comes to flutter against their bodies, and Jasmine is almost shocked to find how much she _enjoys_ this, not just testing Aladdin but what he does in return. Heat pools in her when they kiss, and when with a look that asks for permission and a trembling hand Aladdin first touches between her thighs she has to gasp back a moan. _Pleasure_. Of course, that was what it was always supposed to be, always said to be, and certainly she had seen the pleasure of men and their foolishly blank faces, but Aladdin has a fire in his eyes that seems to burn in her as well, and it cuts through her like a knife, and yet somehow she does not mind.  
  
This is not some rutting, some fucking, the actions of another man who wishes to use her body when it suits him, as if she is some disposable and exchangeable _thing_. Over and over, Aladdin whispers her name as they come together, neither _taking_ , until hot pleasure builds in clenching waves within her and she cries out in return.  
  
Afterwards, she lies in his arms, still wondering herself if this might mean what she hopes that it does. Then Aladdin presses his lips into her hair, brushing against her ear, and whispers the words that she had never thought she might hear fall from a man's lips: "I love you."  
  
She captures his mouth in a kiss through which she murmurs: "I love you too." And another, and this one more determined, which holds the words: "I choose you."  
  
And finally, she is sure.


End file.
